Chapter 18 - The HelipadChaos consumed Whitmore Tower.
Sirens wailed in the streets below as a convoy of black FBI SUVs surrounded the skyscraper. Federal agents poured into the lobby in tactical gear, armed with warrants and assault rifles, freezing the company’s assets and arresting executives on the spot.
Victoria didn't wait for the elevator. She grabbed a pre-packed bug-out bag containing fake passports, untraceable diamonds, and offshore account fobs from a hidden wall safe. She kicked off her designer heels and sprinted barefoot up the emergency stairwell toward the roof.
She had a private helicopter on standby 24/7. If she could reach international airspace, she had enough hidden wealth to disappear to a country without an extradition treaty.
She burst through the heavy roof access door, the violent wash of the helicopter rotors hitting her in the face. The pilot was already revving the engines, gesturing frantically for her to hurry.
Victoria ran across the tarmac, a triumphant, desperate grin spreading across her face. I survived. I always survive.
She reached the door of the chopper and threw her bag inside.
But as she grabbed the handle to pull herself up, a cold, metallic cylinder pressed hard against the back of her skull.
"Flight’s canceled, Victoria," a deep, gravelly voice said over the roar of the blades.
Victoria froze. She slowly turned her head.
Standing behind her was Elias, his Glock 19 pressed firmly to her temple. He looked like the grim reaper, pale from blood loss, his jacket stained dark crimson, but his hand was rock steady.
And standing beside Elias was Evelyn Brooks.
Evelyn was no longer the quiet, subservient housekeeper in a pristine apron. She wore a dark, soot-stained jacket, her hair pulled back, her eyes burning with an intensity that made Victoria’s blood run cold.
"Evelyn," Victoria sneered, trying to mask her terror with arrogance. "You think you’ve won? I have accounts you don't even know about. Let me get on this chopper, and I’ll wire you fifty million dollars. Right now."
"I told you once," Evelyn said, her voice cutting clearly through the deafening noise of the rotors, "I don't want your bloody money."
Evelyn stepped closer, closing the distance until she was inches from the woman who had terrorized a child for six years.
"You burned my home," Evelyn said quietly, furiously. "You tried to burn my son. You took his father, and you took his legs. You are going to spend the rest of your life in a concrete box, Victoria. And every time you close your eyes, I want you to remember that a maid put you there."
Victoria’s face twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred. She lunged forward, trying to grab Elias’s gun.
Elias didn't shoot her. Instead, he smoothly stepped aside, grabbing her wrist and twisting it sharply behind her back. Victoria shrieked in pain as he forced her to her knees on the hard tarmac.
The roof access door burst open again. A dozen FBI agents swarmed the helipad, weapons drawn.
"FBI! Drop your weapons! Hands in the air!"
Elias smoothly ejected the magazine from his pistol, locked the slide back, and placed the weapon on the ground. He raised his hands, stepping away from Victoria.
Agents rushed forward, dragging a screaming, thrashing Victoria Whitmore to her feet and slapping heavy steel cuffs on her wrists.
"You're nothing!" Victoria screamed at Evelyn as she was dragged toward the stairwell, her pristine composure entirely broken. "You're just the help!"
Evelyn watched her go, entirely unbothered by the venom.
"Not anymore," Evelyn whispered to the wind.
An FBI supervisor approached Evelyn, lowering his weapon. "Evelyn Brooks?"
"Yes," she replied calmly.
"We found Charles Whitmore in the penthouse," the agent said grimly. "He suffered a massive coronary event when the news broke. He’s dead."
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Evelyn felt no joy, only a profound, heavy sense of finality. The dragons were slain. The war was over.
She turned to Elias, offering him a small, genuine smile. "Let's go home."
